


Virgin Sacrifices Are So Outdated

by Hi0ctane



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Companionable Snark, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Virgin Sacrifice, or at least they tried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 01:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20845328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hi0ctane/pseuds/Hi0ctane
Summary: Grantaire is a dragon. Enjolras is a virgin sacrifice.Things don’t work out the way they’re supposed to be.





	Virgin Sacrifices Are So Outdated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KFlynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KFlynn/gifts).

> Day one of my personal les mis drabbletober, most of which were prompted by KFlynn. Let's see if I can keep this up!

“You got to be kidding me. Untie me at once! I am serious!” 

Grantaire cracked an eye open in the darkness of his lair, listening to the voices that came closer and closer still. What it that time of the year again? He really didn’t remember. Summer had long passed and autumn had moved in with relentless storms and long, lavish nights of flying through moonlit mountains; winter felt far away to him. 

But maybe he was mistaken. The drums had been disturbing his sleep for quite some time now, coming from the low of the valley where the village was nestled between steep mountainsides, protected from the outside world and far enough away to be forgotten easily. But the people were approaching his nest with songs and drumbeats and a yelling, apparently angry sacrifice in tow. 

Grantaire stretched languidly, claws digging into the ground and wings unfurling lazily as he yawned. He was surprised to hear no cries of distress, no pleading or wailing as the group came closer and closer still. He knew he still had some time: there was a heavy stone obelisk in front of his lair, complete with chains and ropes and adorned by animal skulls or whatever the villagers considered appropriate for him, and he had no reason to peer out of the cave entrance before they were done with their inane preparations. 

“This is an absolute outrage. Do you even know how barbaric the ritual of sacrificing humans is? I thought we outgrew these horrible practices! I thought we were better than this!” 

The dragon blinked, slowly. Well, this was new. 

“I am not going to stand here as a victim to archaic traditions. A sacrifice to a dragon! What are you, blind heathens? Wake up, people!”

Grantaire knew that it was too soon, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He stood, shook the dust off his back, and headed for the entranceway that was littered by glass shards and bones. 

The sunlight made him squint, rays of the low, red orb reflecting on his emerald scales. The people immediately started to gasp and shield their heads, stumbling back in fear and awe – all but one. The blonde man in the red coat stood, bound with his hands above his head, against the black obelisk; but instead of fear or panic there was only anger and frustration on his face. 

“Tell them how stupid this is.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Grantaire hadn’t used his voice in, well, at least another year. The sacrifices always came at the beginning of winter, young women with tearful eyes and long, scarlet dresses; it was the only time he got in contact with the people of the village, usually roaring and growling and doing whatever an impressive dragon was supposed to do. This time, however, his victim was a young man, with blonde, unruly hair and piercing blue eyes. 

Grantaire was busy studying his perfectly pale lashes when the man spat out his words of anger. 

“Human sacrifices were abolished more than two hundred years ago. At this time reason leads the lands! Kings have taken to science instead of superstition, and court wizards have started to teach astronomy instead of astrology. But here, in this village, we still sent a virgin off to their death each year, to ensure a mild winter and good crops for the coming spring, bidding our good grace from a dragon who doesn’t even _control_ the weather!”

“Don’t listen to him!” a villager yelled in despair. “He has gone mad-“ 

“No, you all have gone mad!” the blonde seethed. His eyes were on Grantaire, and he didn’t even flinch at the sight of the curled horns and razor-sharp teeth. “And besides, why a virgin? Does this imply that only the untouched have worth in your eyes? Do you even know how ridiculous – “ 

“Virgins taste better,” Grantaire deadpanned, bowing his head to peer closely at the blonde. The man huffed, but he didn’t even tremble. His hands dug into the metal holding him to the stone. 

“What’s your name?” the dragon asked, for the first time in hundreds of years. 

“Enjolras,” the blonde replied with defiance, before breaking into another rant.  
“You can’t tell me that a single human a year can keep you sated – that’s stupid, and I refuse to believe it. We could make you a useful sacrifice instead. A small herd of sheep. Corn. Freshly baked bread – although it would be difficult to get that up the mountainside, still warm. Anyway! One child of the village won’t keep you fed, so it’s just for the shock value, and I don’t believe that this is still a thing with these backwoodsmen – “ 

“You’re really not afraid,” Grantaire said, surprised. He couldn’t smell the sharp tang of fear or agony, just the notes of righteous fury. “You don’t think I will eat you.” 

“Oh, please,” Enjolras said with a sneer, “look at me. I’m all bone and sinew, so even if you did eat me, I’d probably only give you indigestion. You can’t tell me humans taste very good. Our meat-to-flesh ratio is poor, and at your size you will have trouble in picking our flesh off our bones, anyway, so you probably eat us whole, and really, that’s just not worth it.” 

Grantaire was actually speechless. In all the years, in all the sacrifices, nobody had acted like this. They all had cried and wailed and pleaded for their freedom, and Grantaire had taken them into his lair and later, much later, brought them away in the dead of the night, because this man was right. 

Humans really tasted awful, but they didn’t have to know. 

“So if you don’t think that I’ll eat you, what then? What are you offering me, in exchange for a calm winter?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. A calm winter, his ass; the blonde had already called his bluff. Grantaire didn’t influence the winter one bit, but like hell he would stop playing the dangerous dragon of the valleys. Otherwise people would come here more than once a year, and really, he wasn’t having that. 

Enjolras hesitated for a second, the sharp frown on his forehead intensifying. He really considered the question.

“Well,” he finally said with a drawl. “I could… stay. We could discuss the social-economic problems of small, remote villages in the mountains, I guess.” 

This startled a laugh out of the dragon, sharp and bright and shocking to the people all around them. They cowered in fear. The drums had stopped, finally. 

“Someone untie the young man,” Grantaire said finally, a lopsided smirk on his face. He could see the miniscule widening of Enjolras’ eyes at that, and had to admit that he felt pleased – despite his bravado he probably hadn’t expected such an outcome. 

The dragon watched as the villagers scrambled to loosen the chains, and Enjolras stumbled forward and away from the obelisk. Grantaire put out his right foot, the back of his claws holding the man up before he could faceplant into the dirt. He chuckled as Enjolras looked up, a little hopeful.

“Well, social-economic discussions sound better than indigestion, anyway.”


End file.
